


the idiot you were, the fool you are

by aesphantasmal



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: (canon provides the comfort relisten to the end of man in glass and maybe youll calm down), Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Other, but isnt it weird that its happened twice, canon typical juno's suicidal tendencies, hed have 2 dollars, if nureyev had a dollar for every time he almost got a lot of a planets population killed, one pretty violent death, s1 timeline, things happen and nureyev feels bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:27:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24345739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aesphantasmal/pseuds/aesphantasmal
Summary: Peter Nureyev was a child once, forced to kill his father to prevent the deaths of an entire city.Peter Nureyev is an adult now, and perhaps he never learned from his mistakes.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 28
Kudos: 69





	the idiot you were, the fool you are

**Author's Note:**

> ive had this in my wips for like a month and i finally managed to get it into a form i could publish aha  
> many thanks to meverri for betaing i owe you my life

"The Egg of Purus?" Nureyev wrote the name down in the notepad next to him.

"Yes," the voice on the other end of the comms replied. "It is currently located on the Utgard Express."

"That, I  _ have  _ heard of," Nureyev replied, noting that down too. 

"I need it as soon as you can get it."

"Naturally." He heard the beep of the call disconnecting halfway through the word. Miasma wasn't exactly one for conversation.

The Utgard Express was Nureyev's first priority. The nature of the object to be stolen was a secondary concern. Irrelevant, if one could not get to it in the first place.

His research began with quick searches through publicly available information. This yielded more information than it usually did — the Utgard Express was something of a curiosity, and curiosities tended to attract more attention from those with more innocent intentions, those who were simply curious, than a simple heavy duty vault in a billionaire’s mansion would.. Then, more specific information. The kind one couldn't simply look up. He made a few calls — he'd built up a fairly substantial network of contacts over the months he'd spent on Mars. After that, he gathered his notes and sorted them, working out what his next move should be, whether he needed to contact anyone else.

None of the people he had contacted directly seemed to know how to get on board the Utgard Express. However many of them seemed to either know or know of someone who might. A few had mentioned that they'd heard it slowed down once a week, with Nureyev managing to narrow down the day from several different accounts. He'd accumulated a shortlist of people that most definitely knew how to get on board, but one name in particular had caught his interest. Brock Engstrom would not be the easiest man to get this information out of, but oh, having the Ruby 7 would soothe any pains the more difficult choice of target gave Nureyev. He knew a fair amount about Engstrom already — he'd come up with a few plans on how to attempt to take the car in his downtime. Finding out how to board the Utgard Express, however, was somewhat more complicated, as it, by necessity, involved getting the information from Engstrom himself. Nureyev racked his brains, and he could only think of two ways to find out how to stop the train. One: lure Engstrom out of the Oasis and force the information out of him at knifepoint. Not really Nureyev's style, and he'd need backup if he were to do that, since Engstrom wouldn't come alone. Besides, if he never entered the Oasis he wouldn't get a chance to steal the Ruby 7. Two: challenge Engstrom to a game of Rangian Street Poker. Based on the collective testimonials of a large number of people who had played cards with Engstrom, there was no doubt in Nureyev's mind that the man was cheating. That would then require Nureyev to prove that he was cheating, and, well, Nureyev was no detective, regardless of the times he had pretended to be. So, he would need a partner.

Of course, Brock Engstrom was not the only person on Mars Nureyev had researched. And, well, there was one lady who was uniquely qualified for the job, as far as Nureyev was concerned. However, he had a feeling the detective would not exactly be amenable to aiding Nureyev in the theft of… whatever it was that the Egg of Purus was, exactly. Nureyev didn't remember the Ancient Martians being egg-laying, and even if they were, he had a feeling it would be considered more noteworthy if humans had found an Ancient Martian egg. All of that to say, he suspected the name was not literal. He had found that Miasma's own published papers and articles were often the best source on the artefacts she sought. So, he looked through the database to see if she had written about it, and, as he expected, she had.

As soon as he read the first sentence, he felt a sudden pit in his stomach, like someone had reached inside and pulled out his insides, like he'd just been hit with a car, like he'd just been punched hard enough to knock him over.

_ The Egg of Purus is the weapon of mass destruction believed to have wiped out the Ancient Martians. _

It took Nureyev a second to stop staring at the screen and hold his hands still without shaking. For a moment, he was a child again, standing in the control room of the Guardian Angel System and realising he had so nearly been manipulated into dropping New Kinshasa out of the sky. He blinked, and he was an adult again, so many light years from Brahma that if one were to look at it from here, it would be the empty rock it had been before humans arrived, and now he held the lives of an entire planet's worth of people in his hands as opposed to a city.

He knew what he had to do. Nureyev wouldn't claim to be an angel, but he was not going to hand a weapon that could wipe out life on the planet over to a mad anthropologist, and he wasn't just going to hand in his resignation so she could kill him and hire someone else.

He may benefit from some assistance.

Before he could even fully think about it, he was closing the article and calling Valles Vicky. He knew Juno had a continued interest in the thefts, and if the detective hadn't already been pushed far enough to ask for help or for leads from Vicky, he was sure the news of the theft of the Throne of Architeuthis would provide the push the detective needed. In any case, he needed to come up with a way to stop the Utgard Express once he had the Egg.

As far as he could tell, nobody had ever bragged about knowing how to stop the train. People had been studying the train for years, and nobody had ever found a way to get it to stop. But it was impossible for it to be unstoppable, if only by the laws of physics. So, Nureyev spent a while researching the engineering and science of the Utgard Express, trying to find a method by which the train could be stopped. He realised quickly that if there were a method to stop the train using a feature of the train itself, somebody would have discovered it many years ago. The tracks, however, may be easier to tamper with. He would just need a few pieces of equipment. 

* * *

It was around eight in the evening when one of his comms went off. He picked it up immediately, only taking a split second to remember which alias this comms belonged to.

"Hello. Caesar Finch speaking."

"Evening," Valles Vicky responded. She sounded mildly shaken and very pissed off. "Look, Finch, I ain't got much time. Borrowed comms. Steel came in asking for info on the Martian artefacts, I asked him to do a job for me, and it's done. Said I'd call you once we were done here. He's heading home from Miranda Heights now."

"Ok. Thank you, Vicky."

"Night," she said, then put the call down.

Miranda Heights, Nureyev remembered from his initial research into Hyperion, was around 20 minutes from Juno's apartment. 30, in this traffic. His current hotel was around 15 minutes walk from Juno's apartment, 10 minutes if he took a more efficient route. Nureyev was practiced enough at making IDs that 20 minutes was more than enough to create ones good enough to fool the Oasis security for himself and Juno, and he'd had the idea for identities they could use rolling around in his head for a while.

The journey to Juno apartment's was, likewise, easy enough. He put everything he needed into a bag, then left through the hotel window and across the roofs. It would be more efficient to get there before the detective arrived home, and they were not exactly spoiled for time. And besides, arriving first would allow him to indulge in a little dramatic posing.

He heard Juno before he saw him. Heavy footfalls coming up the stairs, followed by the turn of the key in the lock, and the opening of the door. He was in position by the time Juno flipped the light switch.

"Hello, Juno. It’s been a while."

Juno's hand went for his blaster, then he froze, staring at Peter in shock. "Nureyev?!"

"The very same." He stood up from his position on Juno's couch. "Don’t get too comfortable, detective. We’re leaving immediately."

"If you think I’m going anywhere with you—" 

He'd expected the detective to be uncooperative, but he didn't exactly have the time to deal with it. "I don’t think, Juno. I know. You called me, after all — by way of one Valles Vicky."

"You’re Vicky’s…" Juno sunk down into the couch. "This can’t be happening. "

"It is, I’m afraid, and I’ve neither the time nor inclination to prove what’s plainly in front of you. Now, put on your coat and give me your keys. We’ve a long night ahead of us."

"The fuck, Nureyev? You can't just break into my apartment in the middle of the night and start trying to tell me what to do!"

Nureyev walked over to Juno's counter, where he could see the car keys. "Juno, trust me, I would be  _ delighted _ to give you a full and detailed explanation, but we have very little time, and I have no desire to be murdered by a mad anthropologist, let alone any further consequences to wasting our time here. Where's your car?"

"Why the hell —"

"Detective, if I tried to tell you how many people's lives are at stake, you wouldn't believe me. We do not have the time to spend arguing, and if we do, it will be in your car."

Juno kept protesting all the way to the car, then once they were in the car, then once they'd stopped in the desert. He stopped briefly as Nureyev explained what was going on as much as he was willing to, then began again in full force once Nureyev said he couldn't offer any proof. It was almost a relief when they split up so Nureyev could go and find Engstrom while Juno parked the car.  _ Almost,  _ because Nureyev had failed to appreciate how much of a welcome distraction Juno was until he was no longer there. Anxiety was not something that sat well with Nureyev. He was experienced enough, practiced enough, that it did not usually plague him, but with so much on the line it was only natural. The anxiety was… not so distressing as the guilt, though, and fit much more nicely with Duke Rose than with Peter Nureyev.

* * *

Talking to Brock Engstrom provided a welcome distraction. The man was just as self-important as Nureyev had expected — a trait of all thieves, in Nureyev's experience, himself most certainly included, though at least Nureyev had committed some thefts that justified a little arrogance in the last two decades. Engstrom hadn't done anything of note during the entire length of Peter's career. Talking to someone like Engstrom made Nureyev feel a lot more confident in his own abilities, because if has-beens like this go around acting as if they're God's gift to the galaxy, Nureyev thinks he's allowed a little smugness. Of course, Duke Rose wasn't quite so dismissive of Engstrom. A lot more naive, a little more anxious, and deeply in love with his wife in a way that was frankly obnoxious, Duke Rose was. Nureyev was laying it on a little thick, knowing things may become a little difficult once Juno arrived.

It wasn't that he resented the detective's presence. Far from it — The qualities that had attracted him to Juno in the first place were still very much present. That moral outrage was simply not quite so appealing when it was directed at Nureyev. He'd known the lady was grumpy. And he couldn't exactly argue that Juno's bitterness was undeserved after their last meeting. It was just a little tiring. But, when it came down to it, he trusted Juno Steel. He just knew that — at least for the moment — Juno did not trust him. And, no matter how much he wanted —  _ needed  _ — Juno to trust him, Nureyev could hardly blame him for it.

* * *

Nureyev supposed he should have expected Miasma to be prepared to have to take the weapon from him by force. Of course, it was harder to dwell on his own idiocy with three of the largest guns he'd seen being carried by people pointed directly at his head.

"Well. This hardly seems equitable," he said, trying to keep some humour in his tone, to bite down the panic. Miasma ignored him.

"Juno Steel - drop the crate, get in the car. Now."

Juno wasn't looking at Miasma. He was keeping a tight grip on the weapon case and he was looking at Nureyev. Nureyev could tell Juno was thinking, running over a million possibilities in his mind, grasping for any way to avoid one of both of them ending up with a dozen blaster holes in them and a shallow grave in the desert.

"I’ve waited long enough. Get. In. The. Car."

Juno was still thinking, though what about Nureyev didn't know. Suddenly, the guilt slammed into him again. They were the only ones who knew the Egg was here, and now they may both be about to die. Some part of Nureyev felt dying here, not knowing if he was responsible for the deaths of everyone on Mars, might be preferable to the alternative. Whichever way, Juno needed to live. One of them was going to have to stop Miasma from detonating that bomb, and, well, those guns weren't aimed at Juno.

"Juno. Get in the car. Please. I can hold my own out here, you know that." Nureyev tried to sound as convincing as possible. Of course, he knew if he went back to the Oasis, unless he was very careful, he'd be dead in five seconds, and if he tried to go anywhere else without the Ruby he knew that the radiation and the thirst and the exhaustion would probably kill him before he could get anywhere, and if he did manage to find his way out of the desert, he'd have an even larger mountain of debt than he did already after getting treatment. Still, he had to at least appear to keep some semblance of optimism if only for Juno's —

"Ah!" Juno shouted. Blood was trickling out of his eye, leaving a dark trail down his cheek.

"Juno! Your eye is bleeding! "

"That’s enough! Grab him and kill the thief."

Nureyev heard a gun being cocked. He squeezed his eyes shut, before he realised that noise hadn't come from the car. Juno was holding the gun he picked up on the train to his own head.

Nureyev could feel his own heartbeat in his head, drowning out all other sounds, watching Juno's trigger finger and his deep, shaking breaths as he yelled something Nureyev was too preoccupied to process. He could only watch Juno's shaking hand and feel his own shake as well. He wanted to grab Juno and wrench the gun away — but no. He had to trust Juno. He had to trust he had a reason for doing this.  _ Trust Juno. Trust Juno. _

Then, they were both being shoved into the very back of the car, barely an inch between them. Juno looked… looked like he had already given into despair.

"Cheer up, Detective. We stole the weapon once — we merely need to steal it again. It may seem impossible now, but... has that ever stopped us before?"

Juno didn't respond, but Nureyev could see something in his eyes. The detective had always worn his feelings on his face, and right now, his face said he might just trust Nureyev.

Most of the rest of the journey was silent — Nureyev was pretty sure the assistants couldn't talk — so he had plenty of time to consider their current predicament. For whatever reason, Miasma wanted Juno alive. Were it not for Nureyev, Juno would be safe at home in Hyperion, with the exception of the weapon of mass destruction. Were it not for Juno, Nureyev would be dead, left for the Utgard security team to find or to be buried by the shifting sands of the Martian desert, unremarked upon, undiscovered, unknown.

* * *

Nureyev wiped the blood from Juno's face. It felt like nothing, like a meaningless parody of care. But were it not for him, Juno wouldn't even be here. He was in too much pain to do much more — wasn't even sure what he could do even if he wasn't in pain — but he knew he had to do something, so he wiped the blood from Juno's face using a section he tore from his shirt, what little of the water Miasma had given them they could spare, and the small bottle of disinfectant he had found in his pocket. He ignored the blood that ended up on his hands and waited.

Not giving up meant probable death. Giving up meant certain death, both for him and for Juno, and he would not allow that to happen. So he kept a close eye on the guards, waiting for them to make a mistake. He kept watch over Juno as best he could. He tried to allow opportunities for Juno to rest, even if it was at the expense of him receiving a few more shocks. Still, he could feel he was fighting a losing battle. There didn’t seem to be any end to the tests, Miasma's assistants outnumbered them by — well, Nureyev couldn’t really tell, they all wore the same face-covering armour (a good disguise if he got the opportunity to — well, he wasn’t quite sure.) There could be a hundred of them. Nureyev doubted it, but there could be. Nureyev could escape, he was sure of it. The question was if he could bring Juno with him. At first he refused to even consider leaving Juno behind — what if Miasma killed Juno while he was gone? — but as time dragged on, he realised he might have to take any opportunity he could get, and come back for Juno later.

That was, of course, before Miasma made it clear she didn't need Nureyev conscious for whatever she wanted from Juno. He couldn't hear most of what they talked about — only what Miasma said over the intercom to her assistants. But he knew what the liquid in the needle was as soon as it entered his arm. He managed to get out one last quip before the sedative knocked him out, just to let Juno know they hadn't killed him.

He didn't know what had happened next. 

He woke up in his and Juno's cell, nothing to inform him of what had happened other than the lingering sluggishness from the sedative and Juno lying next to him, still out cold. Nureyev could see dried blood around his eye. How long had they both been out? How many times would they have to do this? He picked up the handkerchief they'd been using as a washcloth and, cautiously, went to wash the blood off of Juno's face.

Nureyev knew without asking that Juno couldn’t have researched him. He would never have agreed to get in the car with him if he had, at least not without some serious explanations first. Whatever Juno saw in his head could easily cause him to decide Nureyev was any number of things, things Nureyev spent a lot of time trying to convince himself he wasn't. Despite everything, beneath all his all his cynicism and self-loathing, Juno was a good person, almost to a fault, and Nureyev worried that if Juno looked too far inside him, beneath the optimism and confidence he projects, he may decide there was nothing but rot under there, slowly decaying what little heart Nureyev had left. When Juno woke up, Nureyev wouldn't be surprised if Juno had decided he was a monster. But for now, the detective was out cold, and didn't stir as Nureyev wiped the blood off, so he would take care of him the best he could for not, until the detective told him not to.

When Juno woke up, he was… angry. Bitter. Not much of a change from how he'd been since Nureyev broke into his apartment what felt like a lifetime ago. But there was something there, too. A mistrust. Nureyev extended a hand, and Juno bit back.

Every instinct in Nureyev's body fought against inviting Juno to dig further: Fear of what Juno might find, of ruining what little trust the two of them had; the discomfort of having his past laid bare; worry for Juno, for the pain digging into Nureyev's mind seemed to cause him; his need to be the person people wanted him to be, showing the face Juno needed from him, knowing that Juno may see his fears behind his attempts to keep his spirits up; the guilt for some of his actions that still followed him, eating away at him silently while he tried to pretend it didn't exist. Still, something drew him to do it — the same feeling, deep in his gut, that had compelled him to give Juno his name so long ago. He couldn't exactly put a finger on what it was — faith, trust, maybe even love, those were part of it, but there was also a desire to be known in some capacity, to know he was capable of genuinely connecting with someone. And, if there was any hope of _ this _ — of him and Juno — lasting beyond this point, Juno was better off learning the things Nureyev had done now, rather than in months or years when losing him would hurt far more than it did now. So he let Juno in, of his own accord, and as they sat facing each other, deep underground, in the birthing chamber of a species long dead, he held onto Juno's hand.

Juno was unresponsive for a while. Miasma's experiments must have been cut short, because she wouldn't have allowed them this much time by themselves otherwise. He tried to fill his mind with as many minor observations as he could. He had never been spectacular at keeping his mind clear, so he simply had to try his best not to think of anything too distracting. Then, suddenly, Juno's eye started bleeding. Not the trickle of blood from before, either. It was gushing from behind his eye as if being pushed by some massive pressure, coating Juno's cheek in red in a second.

"Juno!" He looked around. There was a guard by the door. "Help! Someone, come help, quick!" The guard stared at him. "He’s bleeding! If you don’t come in here this instant he’ll die, do you hear me, and then where will you be?" Nureyev yelled.

The guard opened the heavy metal door of the cell and came in, looking as closely as Nureyev would let him get at Juno.

"What’s the matter with him? You can help him, can’t you?" The assistant made a series of hand gestures. In the time they'd been here, Nureyev had begun to pick up on what the gestures the assistants used meant. It made it easier to tell what they were doing next . "He’s... fine then?" The assistant nodded. "Well... I suppose I should thank you." Then, before the guard could react, Nureyev had grabbed them and got them in a chokehold. "For giving me just the opportunity I needed." The assistant dropped to the floor unconscious, and Nureyev scrambled over to Juno. He tried to rouse him, to get him up and moving before the assistants shut them in again. But all he could do was open his one uninjured eye, and Nureyev knew he had to take this opportunity, even if it meant leaving Juno for now. He muttered a few assurances to the less-than-coherent detective, set him down softly on the floor, then ran. 

* * *

The drive back to the tomb was far more painful than the drive as he had left. The desert seemed far larger and emptier than before, and Nureyev felt every second of it, stretched out like he would simply be driving forever.

He was worried about Juno, mostly. Worried about what may have happened to him since Nureyev left. Miasma still seemed to need him, which was some small comfort. Of course, there were other things she could do to him without killing him. Nureyev felt anger and guilt war within him as he considered the possibilities. But he could not allow them to overtake him, he knew, so he pushed them down, tried not to think about all the ways he would very much like to make Miasma suffer for everything she'd done to them both.

Once he got close enough to the tomb, he abandoned the car and made his way closer on foot. There was only a single guard watching the entrance, and, if he approached from the correct angle, he could probably sneak up on the guard before they had any idea he was there.

He kept several knives at the ready as he snuck closer, first heading to the back of the tomb entrance, then sneaking around the side. He had eyes on the guard before they even seemed to notice anything was amiss. Nureyev had spent enough time around the assistants to note precise flaws in their armour design — for example, the lack of protection on the side of their ribs. The guard moved their arms for a second — stretching, maybe — and Nureyev took the chance, throwing a knife directly into the side of their chest. They froze for a second, then, seemingly on instinct, pulled the knife out. They seemed to realise what they'd done as the first gurgling breath came, bubbles of air mixed with blood from the pierced lung. Nureyev watched as the assistant collapsed, gasping for breath as their airway filled with blood. As soon as they hit the sand, Nureyev cautiously approached them, throwing a few more knives to make sure they were definitely dead and not just pretending as he got close. He pulled the mask off, wiping the blood off, and placed it over his own face, not looking at the person he had just killed. 

* * *

Nureyev had arrived so very close to being late. As Miasma called for an assistant to kill Juno, he stepped forward. He held the gun steady to Juno's head, but didn't look at him. (He told himself he was simply keeping his focus on the goal here, but he knew he didn't want to see the fear in Juno's eyes as he aimed a gun at him dressed as an assistant, or, in a perhaps more worrying possibility, a lack of fear. He kept his eyes on Miasma and the other assistant, looking for his opening. As soon as he saw it, he shot both Miasma and the assistant in quick succession.

"That was cold, killing the two of them so fast."

Nureyev wanted to reply that he wasn't particularly inclined towards  _ mercy _ for Miasma and her assistants, but he decided against it. 

* * *

For a second, when the airlock closed, Nureyev felt betrayed.

Hideously selfish, perhaps, but genuine.

Then the fear set in. The realisation.

There was almost a calmness to the way Juno spoke. Like he always knew it was going to end like this. Like he'd made peace with this eventuality.

The last time Nureyev had lost somebody he loved, he'd plunged the knife into Mag's heart himself. And even though Juno had closed the door himself, Nureyev knew this was his fault, perhaps more than Mag's death had been. He'd known what he was doing this time. He wasn't a child anymore. And again, he was going to lose someone he cared about to save a planet of people  _ he _ endangered.

"Mind if I let you in on a little secret, Nureyev?" he heard Juno say, through the door, in a quiet moment between the gunshots. Nureyev may have still been shouting, pleading with Juno not to do this. "You're the greatest thing that ever happened to me," Juno continued. Then he laughed, briefly. "Wow, that’s a load off. And it’s true! You make me feel like... maybe it’s all worth it. Like maybe there’s something out there worth seeing."

"Of course there is. But you need to be alive to see it," Nureyev pleaded. He  _ needed _ Juno to live. For selfish reasons perhaps, but he knew there was a part of him that would gladly throw all of Mars under the bus to save Juno. Then, a second after he'd thought it, he realised quite what he had thought, and guilt tinged with disgust at himself rose within him like vomit. 

He kept shouting, as Juno gave his death speech, begging, pleading with him to live, but he knew it was futile. Juno had accepted his self-imposed fate.

He heard the bomb go off. But he couldn't move, couldn't stop hammering at that door hoping desperately that Juno would answer, unwilling to accept the alternative. When Juno did emerge from that room, started talking about Ancient Martian suicide, Nureyev was still in shock, and Juno seemed to be, too. So, head full of nothing but daydreams about the future, not seeing the warning signs, the obvious need for help shown in Juno's behaviour, he lead them to the surface.

* * *

Nureyev knew Juno was gone without even opening his eyes, without extending his hand to feel the coldness of the bed where Juno had been lying. He didn't have time to feel the loss, couldn't allow himself the space to feel the sadness that he wanted to. Really, he couldn't blame the lady, with all his moral outrage and with everything he's seen of Nureyev, Peter couldn’t exactly blame him for leaving like this. Maybe, after everything he'd done, this was what he deserved.

**Author's Note:**

> comment or ill cry


End file.
